The first touch of water was cold enough to shock even Harry's immortal nerves. The sea had always been an element he admired from afar, never something he truly entered.
Now, it surrounded him entirely.
The waves roared with a strength that would have smashed any ship to splinters, but his own body shimmered faintly with magic. Runes of oxygen and endurance glowed faint blue across his neck as a charm activated—his lungs no longer burned for air. Tiny gills formed just under his collarbones, and every breath he took became effortless.
Still, even divine lungs didn't change the taste.
He spat out a mouthful of salt water, grimacing. "So much for looking heroic," he muttered into the dark sea.
Lightning flickered somewhere above, distant and soft, a storm warning him to turn back. He kept swimming. Each stroke cut through thickening currents that pulled and twisted like living ropes, but his strength—part wizard, part god—held firm.
After what felt like hours, the water turned warm. The pressure eased, and a faint glow appeared beneath him. Sand.
Harry broke the surface with a gasp and staggered onto the shore, collapsing to his knees. His robes clung to him like a second skin, heavy and drenched. For a long while, he simply sat there, panting, letting the waves wash over his legs.
When he finally looked up, he froze.
The island wasn't small—it was vast, alive with color. The trees shimmered with dew that sparkled like glass. Wildflowers carpeted the fields in every hue, and from somewhere deeper inland came the sound of birdsong. The air smelled of honey and salt, and the sunlight had a strange softness, as though time here didn't flow like elsewhere.
Harry stood slowly. "So this… is Ogygia."
He took a cautious step inland. The sand gave way to lush grass and winding paths of white stone that looked hand-laid. A small hut sat a little further ahead, built from coconut leaves and driftwood. Its smoke curled gently into the air, the only sign of habitation.
Then he saw her.
A figure ran from the hut, feet bare, her white dress fluttering behind her. Her long chestnut hair gleamed in the sunlight as she sprinted toward him, the expression on her face a mix of disbelief and caution.
She stopped several feet away, studying him carefully.
Harry blinked, catching his breath. "What?" he asked, half-smiling. "Haven't you seen a human before?"
The girl tilted her head slightly, her eyes—deep amber and bright with intelligence—scanning him as though searching for something unseen.
"I've seen many men come to this island," she said, her voice soft but clear, carrying the lilt of ancient Greek. "But all of them arrived unconscious—shipwrecked, broken, barely alive. You…" She paused, her gaze lingering on his unscarred skin, his steady stance. "You're rather healthy."
Harry chuckled, brushing wet hair from his forehead. "I do try to make an entrance."
The girl's lips quirked into a faint smile. "You're certainly not what I used to see."
"Most people say that," he replied, offering a hand. "Harry Potter."
She looked at his hand for a moment, uncertain, then reached out. Her skin was warm, soft—real, despite the divine aura that radiated faintly around her.
"I am Calypso," she said. "Daughter of Atlas. And apparently, your island host."
Harry's eyebrows lifted slightly. "I know from the stories."
Calypso's smile faded, replaced by a quiet sadness. "Stories? Do they still tell them?"
"Yes," Harry said gently. "They say you live in paradise… but that it's also your prison."
She gave a bitter laugh. "Paradise," she repeated, looking around at the glittering trees and eternal sunlight. "Paradise loses its meaning after years of solitude."
Harry's heart clenched. "You don't deserve that."
Calypso looked at him curiously. "You talk like someone who knows what it's like to be bound by things bigger than yourself."
"I do," Harry said simply. "Maybe that's why I'm here."
They stood there in silence for a moment—the savior of two worlds and the daughter of a Titan—both prisoners in their own ways. The sea breeze rustled the palms above them.
Then Calypso gestured toward her hut. "You look exhausted. Come, Harry Potter. Let's get you dry before the sea takes you again."
Harry smiled faintly. "Lead the way."
As they walked toward the little hut beneath the eternal sunlight, he couldn't help but glance around at the shimmering perfection of the island—the crystal lake, the endless garden, the stillness that felt more like a spell than peace.
By sunset, the island glowed gold. The air smelled of sea salt and fruit blossoms as Calypso moved about her hut with the energy of someone who hadn't spoken to another soul in centuries.
"Sit, please," she said quickly, her voice bright with excitement. "It isn't much, but it's… mine."
Harry smiled, still drying his hair with a flick of wandless magic, watching her bustle about. The table she'd prepared was a charming little thing — carved from driftwood, its surface polished smooth by years of sand and sea wind. A simple feast waited there: bright fruit sliced in careful spirals, steamed vegetables arranged in colorful patterns, and freshly grilled fish wrapped in leaves.
"It looks lovely," Harry said honestly, even though the scent of plain roasted fish made him think longingly of Hestia's cooking, or Andromeda's perfectly seasoned stews, or even Kreacher's fierce insistence that every meal be worthy of a Black. Still, this meal had a different weight to it. Every piece of fruit had been picked by her own hand.
Calypso laughed when she saw him hesitate with the first bite. "Go on. It's not poisoned."
Harry chuckled. "After everything I've been through, I wouldn't be surprised if it was."
"Poisoned food would mean I had guests often enough to need defenses," she said, her tone suddenly quieter. "You're the first in almost three centuries."
That made Harry pause mid-bite. "Three hundred years?"
She nodded, settling across from him. "The last was a Roman sailor — stubborn, loud, smelled of salt and bronze. I remember the sound of his ship breaking apart before it brought him here. Before that…" She trailed off, looking toward the horizon. "A Greek poet who wouldn't stop crying. A hero who forgot my name the moment he saw his reflection in the water."
There was a hollow humor in her words, the kind that only came from long, unbearable isolation.
Harry swallowed a mouthful of fruit. "And all of them… left."
"They always leave," Calypso said simply. "That's the curse."
The way she said it wasn't bitter — just matter-of-fact, like describing a rule of nature. She rested her chin on her hand. "Tell me about the world, Harry Potter. Tell me about Olympus, about the mortals. Is Athena still the prideful one? Has Poseidon found another way to annoy his brother?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Some things never change." He began telling her about the modern world — about lights brighter than Apollo's chariot, cities that reached the clouds, about children learning magic and science side by side.
Calypso listened like someone starving. Her eyes lit up with every word. She laughed softly at his descriptions of wizarding technology, shook her head in disbelief when he explained airplanes, and gasped when he told her about space travel.
"You've reached the stars," she whispered. "Mortals, not gods. You truly have."
Harry leaned back, finishing the last bite of fish. "We've reached the stars," he said quietly, "but we still haven't learned how to be kind to each other."
Calypso smiled sadly. "Perhaps that's why the gods still fear you."
They sat together in the glow of twilight, the ocean whispering nearby. The fruit trees swayed gently in the breeze, and for the first time in centuries, Calypso's island felt less like a prison and more like a home.
As the stars began to bloom across the sky, she looked at him and said softly, "Thank you… for not arriving broken."
Harry met her gaze and smiled. "Thank you for not letting me leave hungry."
And though neither of them said it, they both knew — this meeting was only the beginning.
Morning came softly on Ogygia.
The sea was calm, the wind gentle — as if the island itself didn't yet know it was about to lose its only heartbeat.
Harry stood at the edge of the shore, boots sinking into the wet sand, the sea foam curling around his feet. The sun rose behind him, painting the world in gold. He was dressed simply — his wand tucked at his belt, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
He heard footsteps before he turned.
Calypso approached him, her hair unbound, swaying in the breeze like a banner. Her face was lit by the soft morning light, but her eyes were anxious, questioning.
"You're leaving," she said quietly. It wasn't a question.
Harry nodded, glancing back at her. "Yes. I've found what I came for."
Her lips trembled just slightly. "And just like that? After a single night?"
He hesitated. He hadn't meant to sound cold, but he understood now — for someone who had spent centuries waiting, a single night must have felt like a blink.
"I'm not leaving you behind, Calypso," he said gently.
But she didn't hear him. Her voice rose, panic breaking through her calm tone.
"Every man who ever came here—every one of them stayed! They stayed for months, years even! They swore they loved me, and they did, before the gods took them away!" Her hands shook. "And now you— you speak of leaving before I even…"
Her voice cracked, and she turned away, staring at the endless sea. "Before I even felt that I wasn't alone."
Harry stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "When I said I'm leaving," he said softly, "I meant we are leaving."
She froze. Slowly, she turned to face him. "What?"
Harry raised his hand, his eyes glowing faintly with divine energy. The air around them shimmered, ancient magic stirring. The waves pulled back as though in fear, and the sand beneath their feet thrummed with power.
"Your prison ends today," Harry said.
The sky dimmed for a moment, clouds curling overhead. Runes of light — massive, golden, and ancient — flared across the ground, circling Calypso's feet. The island trembled, and a soft wind rose, swirling around her like a living thing.
She gasped as she felt it — the weight of millennia lifting from her shoulders. The divine chains that bound her spirit to the island cracked, glowing like molten gold before shattering into dust.
The sea roared, and then—silence.
Calypso blinked, dazed. The power around her was gone. The island no longer held her.
Harry smiled faintly. "Zeus made the curse with force, not knowledge," he said. "It was meant to last forever — but his magic isn't clever. It was easy to unbind once I found the root."
Her hands trembled as she touched her heart, feeling her freedom for the first time in thousands of years. Tears welled in her eyes.
"I…" She swallowed hard, her voice breaking. "I don't even know what to say."
Harry extended his hand. "Then say nothing. Just come with me."
Calypso looked around once more — at the flowers she had tended, the hut she had built, the sea that had both sheltered and caged her. Then she took Harry's hand.
The moment their palms touched, the island seemed to sigh — a soft, sad breeze sweeping across it, as if it knew she was never coming back.
Harry conjured a small silver boat with a wave of his hand. The vessel shimmered with enchantments, runes glowing faintly along its hull. He helped Calypso climb in, then pushed off from the shore.
As they drifted away, the island began to fade, its colors growing pale, the illusion unraveling now that its purpose was gone.
Calypso looked back, her eyes wet but her expression serene. "Goodbye," she whispered to the paradise that had been her prison.
Harry rowed steadily through the mist. The sea fought them at first, storms rising like guardians of the curse, but Harry's magic sliced through them. Runes of protection glowed around the boat, parting the waves.
The mist thinned.
Light broke through.
And ahead, beyond the rippling veil, the ocean stretched open — vast, free, and waiting.
Calypso turned toward Harry, her voice trembling. "There's… a ship," she whispered, seeing the outline in the distance — the enchanted vessel Harry had left waiting beyond the cursed waters.
Harry smiled. "Our way home."
Calypso leaned back, closing her eyes as the sun warmed her face. For the first time in an eternity, the air she breathed wasn't borrowed — it was her own.
"You freed me," she murmured.
"No," Harry said softly, watching the horizon. "I gave you back what should've always been yours."
And as the small silver boat glided toward the waiting ship, the last shimmer of divine mist vanished behind them — taking with it one of Olympus' oldest curses.
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